A Wonderful Life
by clothsofheaven
Summary: Draco Malfoy, reporter for the Daily Prophet, has been assigned an almost impossible task: An in-depth interview with Harry Potter on the fifth anniversary of Voldemort's death. Warning: Contains slash  Harry/Draco  Post-Hogwarts/Post-war
1. Chapter 1

**A Wonderful Life**

**by clothsofheaven24**

_Draco Malfoy, reporter for the Daily Prophet, has been assigned an almost impossible task: An in-depth interview with Harry Potter on the fifth anniversary of Voldemort's death. How can Draco get Harry to open up to him after everything that has transpired between them? How can Draco prove to Harry that he has changed since the war? _

ooo

Thank you, **Oliver** for being my beta and inspiring me to write this story.

**Disclaimer:**

This story includes quotes and ideas from _Tuesdays with Morrie_ by Mitch Albom.

You all know that I don't own the Harry Potter characters (JKR does). But if I did, something like this would happen to them...

ooo

_**Death ends a life, not a relationship. – Morrie Schwartz**_

ooo

**Part One**

Harry Potter approached the back door of The Burrow, which was surrounded by the familiar litter of old Wellington boots and rusty cauldrons, alone.

He could hear the soft clucking of chickens coming from a distant shed and the quiet tinkering of dinnerware coming from the crooked house before him.

He knocked three times and the door opened at once.

"Harry, dear! It's so good to see you!" Mrs Weasley enthusiastically greeted him.

"Sorry I'm late, Mrs Weasley," he apologised, "last minute paperwork at the Ministry."

He looked around, expecting to find other members of the Weasley family there, but was surprised to see that Mrs Weasley had been alone in the kitchen.

Friday night dinners had become regular routine at The Burrow since the war. Mrs Weasley always set dinner down at seven o'clock and Harry was usually the last to arrive.

Mrs Weasley closed the door and steered Harry by the shoulders into the full glow of the kitchen light to examine his appearance.

"You're too thin," she sighed, looking him up and down. "The Ministry works you too hard."

"I'm fine," said Harry, used to this weekly inspection, "really."

"You're still as handsome as ever though," Mrs Weasley continued, brushing imaginary dust from his shoulders. She didn't seem to have heard his reply.

"Where is everyone?" Harry asked, turning to the kitchen table. He noticed it was only set for six people, which was unusual; all of Mr and Mrs Weasley's children and Hermione were present at the dinners each week without fail.

Mrs Weasley abruptly stopped grooming him and visibly turned a light shade of pink.

"Bill and Fleur couldn't make it this week," she answered him rather quickly, "neither could George. He's busy with the shop, you see. Charlie and Percy are away on business and Ginny is out with Dean."

Harry looked at her in confusion. He had seen Percy at the Ministry just this evening before he left, and George often tried to use work as an excuse to miss these dinners to no avail. Mrs Weasley expected them all every week.

She hurried Harry along before he could voice his suspicious thoughts.

"Arthur, Ron and Hermione are in the sitting room though," she said, her voice a little too high pitched as she pulled him into the other room, "and we also have a guest."

And sure enough, the moment he was pushed into the room he was greeted by three familiar faces and one strange one.

"Good to see you, Harry," Mr Weasley said, rising from his armchair and shaking Harry's hand. "How's work in the Auror office go-"

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed, quickly jumping out of her seat and cutting Mr Weasley off. "I'm glad you are here! This is Aiden Sharp. He works at St Mungo's with me."

Harry found himself being pulled again, this time into a seat next to the stranger called Aiden.

"Nice to meet you," Aiden said pleasantly, also shaking Harry's hand. "I can't believe I'm finally meeting the great Harry Potter at last! Hermione's told me so much about..."

And on and on it went, two hours of mind-numbingly boring small talk, incessantly orchestrated by Hermione and Mrs Weasley.

"You're a fan of the Appleby Arrows, Aiden? What a coincidence! Harry loves Quidditch!"

"Yes, you won't find a bigger Quidditch fan than Harry! Perhaps you two should go to a game together! A friend gave me some free tickets, but I don't care for the sport much myself."

The evening ended with Hermione practically shoving a quill and parchment into Aiden's hand and demanding he give Harry his contact information.

Aiden looked delighted by the idea, but Harry did not. He accepted the parchment awkwardly and made a sudden excuse to leave.

He had barely exited his Floo and entered his apartment when Hermione came bursting in after him, Ron obediently following in her wake.

"That went well," she said happily. "I think Aiden really-"

"What the hell, Hermione!" Harry interrupted and rounded on her. "What was all that about?"

"Aiden's a nice guy and I thought-"

"You thought you could set me up again," Harry finished for her. "How many times do I have to tell you, I don't want to be set up with anyone at the moment?"

"Does that mean you won't go to the Quidditch game with Aiden? That would be a shame. I think you two really hit it off tonight. Don't you agree, Ron?"

Ron shrugged and gave a non-committal jerk of his head. When she turned away from him again he gave Harry an apologetic look.

"I'm not interested in dating right now," Harry maintained, throwing himself into his favourite chair by the fireplace, "I want to focus more on work at the moment."

"Harry, you've been fighting the Dark Arts since you were eleven!" Hermione persisted, perching herself on the arm of his chair and staring down at him imploringly. "It's time to do something else in your life."

"Just because you found the love of your life at a young age, doesn't mean the rest of us are going to be as lucky," Harry told her, folding his arms in front of himself in a defensive gesture.

He knew what she wanted. She wanted him to be happy with someone and doing and feeling the same things as herself and Ron.

But Harry was sick of her constant interfering. He was sick of her introducing him to her colleagues at work functions, tired of her chatting up total strangers for him when they went out, and tonight he was infuriated by the fact that she had bought one of them to The Burrow.

It meant Mrs Weasley was now in on it too. Hermione alone was bad enough. They would make an indestructible team together. Harry didn't stand a chance against them, but he would try.

"I'm not going to the Quidditch match," he said firmly.

"What's wrong with Aiden?" Hermione asked in an offended sort of way, matching Harry's defensive tone. It was all part of her plan. "He is good-looking and nice, and he holds a respectful job at St Mungo's."

"Yes, all the men you force on me are nice and good-looking and respectful," Harry replied, narrowing his eyes.

"I don't understand your problem with them then," she beseeched, pleading with him now in a sudden change of tact. "They are all really interested in you."

Harry grunted. "That's a delicate way to put it."

Ron made a large fake yawn from his position on the other side of the room, subtly hinting to Hermione it was time to go. She ignored him and glared at Harry, changing back to defensive.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"They are nice and good-looking and respectful, but they are completely obsessed by my fame," Harry said, glaring back at her. "The last bloke I agreed to go out with spent the entire evening staring at my forehead and asking if everything in the article written about me in _Witch Weekly_ was true."

"You're probably just being paranoid," Hermione dismissed, "and who can blame them for being interested in your past!"

"I'm used to people only being interested in me because I am famous," Harry continued, the volume in his voice rising slightly, "but if someone is going to be my boyfriend, they shouldn't give a crap about it."

"Harry, finding someone like that is going to be virtually impossible," Hermione said, beseeching him again.

"I know," Harry agreed, "so I am not going to date anyone for a while."

Hermione opened her mouth to disagree, but Ron beat her to it by yawning again.

"I'm tired too," Harry said, standing quickly and heading to his bedroom, "I'll talk to you guys later."

He collapsed on his bed and fell into a deep sleep shortly after he heard Ron and Hermione disappearing through his Floo.

ooo

"Fenetre, you're to cover the latest Wizengamot trail this week. I want to print every detail up to the verdict! Scamander, I want the final draft of your Magizoology column on my desk by Tuesday afternoon!"

Barnabas Cuffe's booming voice filled the main office of the _Daily Prophet_. All of the reporters had gathered around for their daily meeting with the editor.

They would not have to remain there for long. Cuffe always kept their meetings short, swiftly delegating the articles he wanted his reporters to write.

"Smudgley, you're covering tomorrow's Quidditch match. Your ticket is being owled to you. Spleen, I want you down at St Mungo's as soon as possible. A girl was playing with a toy from Zonko's and suddenly grew horns on her forward. Interview her parents!"

Cuffe paced back and forth pointing and gesturing wildly at his employees.

"Gulch, you are to cover Smudgley's advice column for him until he completes his interview. Malfoy, you're on the feature article for the week. _Witch Weekly_ did an article on Harry Potter and I want to go one better. I want an in-depth interview ready to go to print on Monday. It's the fifth anniversary of You-Know-Who's death so make it good! Potter's contact details are now on your desk."

"Wiggleswade, I want you to give advice on the worst legal problems you can find in your column this week. Braithwaite, make the next crossword trickier than ever! Let's go, team!"

With a sharp clap of his hands, Cuffe abruptly stopped talking and ended the meeting. Reporters darted in every direction, hurrying back to their desks or out of the building to begin their assigned tasks.

Draco Malfoy, however, followed his boss.

"Sir-"

"What is it, Malfoy?" Cuffe cut him off, in a hurry to get back to his office.

"It's about my assignment, sir," Draco answered, "I appreciate being given the feature, but I don't think I'm the best person to conduct an interview with Harry Potter."

"Why's that?" Cuffe asked.

Draco was amazed at how a man as short and plump as Cuffe could walk so fast. He was struggling to keep up with him.

"We have never gotten along well," Draco explained, "and I haven't seen him in a long time."

"Oh, you mean your schoolyard rivalry," Cuffe remembered, still not slowing down. "I thought you and Potter put all of that nonsense behind you years ago, after your trial."

"We agreed to be civil from then on, yes," Draco replied, "but I don't think it means he'll trust me enough for this interview."

"You have as much of a chance as any of the other reporters," assured Cuffe. "Potter's very secretive about his private life. It took a while for me to convince him to do the interview, let me tell you. Nevertheless, he's expecting your owl!"

Just like he ended the meeting, Cuffe abruptly ended their conversation, this time snapping his office door shut behind him rather than clapping his hands.

Draco did not press him further. He stood in front of the closed door blinking rapidly for a moment, and then began to walk dejectedly to his desk.

ooo

Harry floated with a dream. Sleep had come quickly.

He had left his bedroom windows open for the night, and the night breeze drifted idly through them. He sighed and shifted with its gentle caress on his skin.

It was a soft stroking, like a butterfly's wing. It teased across his lips then came back to warm them. He stirred with pleasure.

His body was pliant, receptive. As the phantom kiss increased in pressure, he parted his lips. He drew the dream lover closer.

Excitement was sleepy. The tastes that seeped into him were sweet and potent and misted his brain.

With a sigh of lazy, languid pleasure, he floated with it.

In the dream, he wrapped his arms around the faceless lover. They whispered his name and deepened the kiss as his hands drew down the sheet that separated them.

A body, hard and muscular, pressed against his. Warmth became heat. The night breeze became stronger, flapping the drapes noisily.

With a moan, Harry let passion take him. The stroking along his body became more insistent at his response.

His mouth grew hungry, demanding.

The breeze turned into a sharp wind, knocking his lamp off his nightstand.

Suddenly, the filmy curtain of sleep lifted.

The weight on his body was gone and Harry felt the achingly empty space as he struggled out of his bed.

The dream had seemed so real and tangible, like he had wished for a companion so hard the universe finally decided to give one to him.

He told Hermione he didn't want to date anyone at the moment, which was true, but he still desperately wanted someone. He just didn't want to go through the painful routine of dating.

He freed himself from his sheets and headed in the direction of his bathroom, a large erection tenting his pyjama pants.

Hermione was desperate for him to find someone and settle down, but all of the men she threw at him were inappropriate. They didn't understand him.

The last bloke Harry reluctantly dated kept asking him if he could see the supposed Hippogriff tattooed across his chest.

Harry quickly removed his t-shirt and pyjama pants and discarded them haphazardly on the bathroom tiles.

The only mark on his chest was the oval-shaped scar from the third Horcrux, Slytherin's locket.

He stepped into the shower and blasted cold water onto it and the rest of his body.

His other scars were still visible also.

_I must not tell lies_ stood out on the skin on his hand, the puncture marks from Nagini blemished his forearm, and his lightning bolt scar remained as always.

The Hippogriff tattoo rumour wasn't the worst of it though. People seemed to think that the war had incensed and jaded him. They thought that he had become an Auror to continue a vendetta against the Dark Arts.

He hated this rumour most of all. In the five years that passed he put the war and the pain of it behind him.

He came to peace with the death of Dumbledore, Snape, Lupin, Fred, Hegwig, Dobby and Tonks. He came to peace with death itself.

As long as he loved them and maintained his memories of them, they would never really go away.

All that love they created was still there. All the memories were still there.

Snape's and Dobby's sacrifice, Fred's and Hedwig's loyalty, Lupin's and Tonks' bravery, and Dumbledore's insight.

They lived on – in the hearts of everyone they touched and nurtured while they were still here.

Harry felt neither resentment nor anger towards the people and events that caused their demise.

They had died, but they were still with him.

Death ends a life, not a relationship.

Slowly, under the pounding of the chilly water, Harry began to cool and calm his body down.

He turned off the taps and dried himself using a Drying Charm.

He crawled back into his empty bed, his body still naked, and fell into a peaceful sleep.

ooo

It took Draco several attempts to get his key in the keyhole and successfully unlock his door.

He didn't trust himself to use magic considering his current emotions.

When the door finally clicked and was able to be released, he flung it open and threw his briefcase onto the sofa.

He wasn't angry or annoyed, he was terrified.

He stood in the middle of the entrance hall to his flat, breathing heavily and rapidly.

He hadn't seen Potter in five years, since the defeat of Voldemort.

It wasn't that he didn't want to interview Potter, see him and talk to him. It wasn't that he hated him.

It was quite the opposite actually. Draco fancied him.

Even though he hadn't seen Harry Potter in the flesh for half a decade, whenever he saw Potter's picture in the press he was filled with a desperate sense of longing and desire.

It wasn't because Potter had saved his life or because Potter had saved many lives. Draco had always wanted him.

The realisation had come in stages. Firstly, when Potter arrived captured at his house. Draco found himself unable to confirm his identity, unable to turn him in.

Next, Crabbe had him cornered in the Room of Requirement, his wand on him, a murderous look in his eyes.

"_Don't kill him! DON'T KILL HIM!"_

Draco didn't shout it because Voldemort wanted Potter alive to kill him himself. He did it simply because he wanted Potter to live.

Then, Potter had saved him from the cursed fire. Draco remembered the feeling of strong hands pulling him onto a broom. He remembered the presence of hard muscles as his arms clasped around Potter's chest.

He often relived these feelings throughout his dreams at night, except Potter's strong hands would be all over Draco's body and his chest would be pressed hard against him.

Draco read every piece of news printed about Potter and was often enraged by the false information and inaccurate assumptions they made about him.

A recent article in _Witch Weekly_ discussed the latest rumours about Potter. They thought he had a Hippogriff tattooed across his chest and had become an Auror because he was still infuriated and haunted by his experiences with Voldemort and the Dark Arts.

Draco knew that that was far from the truth. He knew more about Potter than he cared to admit to others.

Potter became an Auror because it had been his goal his fifth year; all of his role models were Aurors; he was good at Defence Against the Dark Arts and was simply doing what came naturally to him.

Potter certainly wasn't the resentful type. If he was, he wouldn't have saved Draco and Goyle from the cursed fire and he wouldn't value and treat every human life equally.

Draco's breathing slowly returned to normal as he considered the disgraceful article by _Witch Weekly_.

He knew much more about Potter than they did. He could write a better article.

The only problem would be gaining Potter's trust and convincing him to open up to him in an in-depth interview.

_**To be continued**_

**Author's Notes: **

This is just a little piece of Harry/Draco love to get off my chest before I begin my final year of university and become overwhelmed with studying and assignment writing.

Please review!


	2. Chapter 2

**A Wonderful Life**

**by clothsofheaven24**

ooo

Thank you, **Oliver** for being my beta and inspiring me to write this story.

**Disclaimer:**

This story includes quotes and ideas from _Tuesdays with Morrie_ by Mitch Albom.

You all know that I don't own the Harry Potter characters (JKR does). But if I did, something like this would happen to them...

ooo

_**Things don't matter, people do. –Unknown**_

ooo

**Part Two**

Harry woke the following morning to an owl flying into his open bedroom window. It perched itself on his bed head and held out its foot with a letter for him to take.

_Potter, _

_This letter is to inform you that I have been assigned the reporter to conduct your interview with the Daily Prophet. _

_I understand that you may have trouble trusting me with such a task, but I assure you I have put our previous enmity aside and will conduct myself in a professional manner._

_The Prophet wishes to gain insight into your professional and personal life since the war, and I have prepared my questions thusly. _

_The article needs to go to print on Monday. Please owl me back a time and place you are available to meet before then._

_Regards,_

_Draco Malfoy_

Harry stared at the letter in his hands for a long time.

He knew the _Daily Prophet_ would be contacting him soon about their arranged interview. He also knew Malfoy now worked for the newspaper, but he had definitely not considered the possibly of Malfoy being the reporter to interview him.

It wasn't until the owl nipped his ear that he remembered he needed to write a response.

He found some parchment, picked up his quill and paused.

Malfoy's letter sounded professional, but had a casual feel, like he didn't want to make a big deal out of their required meeting.

Harry thought it was a big deal, considering their past.

Biting uncertainly on the end of his quill, he tried to sound casual as well.

_Malfoy,_

_I am available anytime between now and Monday. _

_I realise you will need time to write the article as well, so perhaps we should meet either this afternoon or tomorrow morning. _

_We can conduct the interview in my flat if you like. _

_See you soon,_

_Harry _

Harry attached his response to the owl and watched it fly out his window. It wasn't until the owl disappeared from view that he began to consider the repercussions of allowing Draco Malfoy to interview him.

They had, as Malfoy reminded him in his letter, put their past enmity behind them. However, it had been a long time since Harry had seen Malfoy, and he wasn't particularly eager to do so.

It wasn't that he despised Malfoy, he was over such things, but Malfoy wasn't an ideal choice of company.

Even if Malfoy hadn't been a Slytherin or a Death Eater, Harry figured he wouldn't have gotten along with him much. Malfoy was too proud and arrogant, and placed too much value on material things and appearances.

Their impending meeting didn't bother him, however.

Harry didn't mind if the article Malfoy wrote about him was unflattering or inaccurate. Most of the information printed about him in the press was already like that.

Harry figured that Malfoy couldn't write anything worse than Rita Skeeter's previous propaganda.

He decided not to tell Ron and Hermione about the situation though. Ron would become angry and protective and Hermione would become concerned and lecture him. They would also insist on being with Harry throughout the interview.

He certainly didn't need their presence prolonging the event. He would simply let Malfoy into his home, answer his questions in a calm and efficient manner and that would be the end of it.

ooo

Draco decided against using the Floo, even though Potter had granted him access to it for the afternoon.

He wanted to show Potter that he didn't think himself above Muggle methods by approaching his apartment block on foot and entering through the front door.

He had responded to Potter's letter immediately, accepting his offer of meeting this afternoon.

The knocker was old and heavy. It gave a very impressive thud when Draco pounded it against the door.

Draco told himself he wasn't the least bit nervous, but switched his briefcase from hand to hand as he waited.

Cuffe would be furious if he walked away without a decent interview.

I'm not going to walk away empty-handed, he assured himself.

Deep down he knew that it was Potter he wanted to impress, not Cuffe.

It had always been that way, he realised, ever since school. He wanted Potter's approval, but he never got it.

Potter had saved his life, but it wasn't because he liked him. He saved Draco because he was good and strong and –

Draco's thoughts were cut off as the door opened. Draco stared.

Staring back at him was the most gorgeous man he had ever seen.

Potter had grown taller since Draco had last seen him. His shoulders were broader also. And his face. Draco decided he was, indisputably, the most handsome man he had ever laid eyes on.

His eyes were green, bright and sparkling, in deep contrast to his dark, raven hair. The thick tufts stuck out in many uneven directions.

It was hair that would make anybody else look ridiculous. It just made Potter look more attractive.

"Good afternoon, Potter," Draco managed. "Thank you for seeing me on such short notice."

"No problem, Malfoy," Potter said, gesturing inside, "come on in."

When Potter stepped back, Draco found himself fighting a reluctance to take his eyes off him.

He walked in and took a quick glimpse around.

The room looked casual, warm and welcoming, like Potter himself.

The walls were a deep red with a gold architrave. _Gryffindor colours, of course_.

The one nearest Draco contained many moving photographs in gold frames.

Draco recognised Potter, Granger and the Weasley family in one, all beaming happily, a large Christmas tree twinkling behind them.

Next to it hung a picture of a beautiful woman with red hair and a man who looked exactly like Potter. _Must be his parents_.

They looked happy to be together, unlike Draco's own parents, holding hands and laughing, eyes on each other, not the lens of the camera.

Turning, Draco found himself glimpsing his own reflection in a large, oval mirror.

It annoyed him to see that his hair was mused. He pushed at the stray misty blond wisps.

The grey of his eyes had darkened with a mixture of anxiety and excitement. His cheeks were flushed with it. He had always wanted to be welcomed into Potter's home.

Taking a deep breath, he ordered himself to calm down. He straightened his jacket.

As Potter closed the door behind him, he quickly turned away from the mirror. He didn't want to be caught studying himself or attempting last-minute repairs.

Potter thought he was self-entered enough as it was. Draco was determined to prove otherwise, prove that he had changed, that Potter himself had changed him.

The door clicked shut and they turned to face each other.

Their eyes meet and it shocked them both.

There was a long pause, in which the subject of their past digressions seemed to rise like a wall between them. Yet they were both here. Potter had saved Draco's life and Draco, in some small ways, had saved Potter's.

"Take a seat," Potter said, with a jerky movement of his arm. He indicated to a small table near the kitchen area.

Draco sat, attentively perched on the edge of one of the cushioned chairs. Potter took the seat opposite him.

"So you're here to ask me questions about my personal and professional life since the war?" he asked, quoting the letter Draco had sent him.

"Yes," Draco replied, fiddling with his briefcase and snapping it open, "I've actually started the article already. Perhaps you would like to read it first?"

Potter gave a stiff nod as Draco retrieved a piece of parchment from his briefcase. He slid it across the table towards Potter.

Potter adjusted his glasses and began to read.

_It has been five years since Voldemort's defeat, and on the occasion of that anniversary, I have been asked to speak to the man behind it all, Harry Potter. _

_That is no small task. Harry Potter changed my life and, if I am to believe his fans around the world, changed others' as well. Where do I begin?_

_Perhaps with an incident that occurred several years before Voldemort's return, before Potter knew of the enormous task that lay before him._

_He was twelve years old and the Seeker of the Gryffindor Quidditch team at Hogwarts. I, already his school-yard rival, was just made the Seeker of the Slytherin Quidditch team. _

_My team and I interrupted Gryffindor's practice on the Quidditch pitch early one morning. _

_My father had bought every player in Slytherin a Nimbus 2001, the latest broom model at the time, to bribe the captain into giving me a position on the team._

_We arrived at the pitch with a note from Professor Snape, instructing the Gryffindors to vacate the pitch to allow the Slytherin team to train me as their new Seeker. _

_Potter's friend Hermione Granger was quick to point out that I did not get placed on the team due to talent, but by money and manipulation alone. _

_As an adult, I can both understand and admit to this fact. However, at the time I denied it and insulted her. I called her a "filthy little Mudblood". _

_Unfortunately, this is not the worst thing I did to Potter and his friends during our time at Hogwarts. I am embarrassed to say that those stories could fill several libraries. _

_My treatment of them was cruel, indecent and offensive. As the years passed we found ourselves on opposite sides of the oncoming battle. _

_I, a Death Eater's son, was given the role of following in my mother's and father's footsteps. _

_Potter, an orphan boy, was destined to kill the man I was required to serve. _

_The day of the final battle, Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle and I followed Potter and his friends into a room at Hogwarts and cornered them._

_We were prepared to capture Potter and take him to Voldemort. _

_My accomplice, Crabbe, set off a Fiendfyre that he could not control. It quickly devoured the entire room and killed him. _

_Goyle and I found ourselves on an old school desk, trapped by the cursed flames. We were as good as dead. _

_Suddenly, Potter appeared on a broomstick he had found. He dived down to the desk and pulled me to safety behind him on his broom._

_Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley also appeared. They pulled Goyle onto their broom. _

_They saved our lives. _

_My journey in writing this article began with that memory. It took me through my disgraceful actions at Hogwarts, my shameful deeds during the war, through all the things that had happened between Potter and me. _

_I mistreated and abused him. He saved my life. And that is the difference between us._

_His heart is good and pure. He saved lives and in doing so sacrificed his own._

_He walked into the Forbidden Forest, walked to Voldemort, ready to die. _

_He showed us that there are worse things in life than death: Prejudice, violence, injustice and all of the things that many witches and wizards were subjected to during Voldemort's reign. _

_Thankfully, he survived in the forest and returned to Hogwarts castle to successful kill Voldemort. _

_On that day Potter enriched and improved the lives of many people._

_In saving my life, an enemy's life, he showed us that life is too short to be spent nursing animosity or registering wrongs. _

_He does not dwell on the wrongdoings of others. He moves forward with life. _

_He moves forward with his life, but still reveres the memories of his good friends who died helping him. _

_Hogwarts lay in ruins, but that was okay, he realised. It was only a thing. Things don't matter, people do. _

_Remus Lupin, Nymphadora Tonks and Mad-Eye Moody. _

_Harry Potter became an Auror to pay tribute to them, not to continue a feud against the Dark Arts like many have claimed. _

_In the years that have passed in our wizarding community, I have been forgiven for my contribution to the Dark Arts, thanks to him, and I have learnt to forgive myself. _

_This week, I arranged an interview with Harry Potter to discover more things that we can learn from him. _

Harry had no idea how long he stared at the writing in his hands.

Out of all the angles Harry guessed Malfoy would take with the article, Harry hadn't expected this.

_Life is too short to be spent nursing animosity or registering wrongs. _It sounded like something Dumbledore would say and Harry felt greatly comforted by it.

_He does not dwell on the wrongdoings of others. He moves forward with life._

Malfoy didn't think he was still holding onto the past, angered by the deaths of his family and friends, like other people did.

Without Harry saying anything, Malfoy understood him.

_My father had bought every player on the Slytherin team a Nimbus 2001, the latest broom model at the time, to bribe the captain into giving me a position on the team._

_I did not get placed on the team due to talent, but by money and manipulation alone._

Malfoy wasn't only disproving the popular theory of Harry's anger and resentment towards the war.

He was also owning up to the mistakes he made in the past, not just the ones to do with Voldemort, but the ones to do with himself as a person.

He had recognised what was wrong and moved on with his life like Harry.

He wasn't a wealthy Death Eater's son anymore. He was simply a man who had made mistakes and nursed regrets.

Harry knew that it was normal for a grown person to regret things from the past. He just never pegged Malfoy as the remorseful type.

Only now Harry understood that somewhere along the way, somehow, he must have made a miscalculation about Malfoy.

_Things don't matter, people do._

Malfoy wasn't arrogant anymore, he couldn't be.

He was clever enough to act favourably towards Harry simply to get a good interview out of him, but Harry could tell that he was genuine.

The certainty of it made Harry feel suddenly lighter.

They were similar after all, the two of them – what he knew was what Malfoy knew.

Perhaps it had never happened, none of the war, the rivalry and their losses.

Sitting across from Malfoy now it was easy to dispel the thoughts of them.

What was real and yet fantastical was here and now.

Malfoy cleared his throat, snapping Harry out of his captivation with his work.

He looked up and their eyes meet again. Harry felt another wave of shock course through him.

Malfoy hadn't just made adjustments to his personality. His looks were so different as well.

His looks and demeanour had softened. His hair was light and fell in wisps over his forehead.

His shoulders and chest were muscular and strong, but he carried himself with a humble air.

His eyes were still grey, but no longer closed off and sharp. They were deep and open and honest.

_He's handsome._

_He's gorgeous. _

_He's __**perfect**__. _

The shock of it shattered through Harry's chest. Something had broken between them.

Harry was gazing into Malfoy's eyes and as clearly as he saw the dark grey irises looking back at him he knew that he no longer knew who Malfoy was.

Their gaze was unwavering, locked on each other, and yet Harry's bearings had shifted so suddenly and radically that he half expected Malfoy's eyes to mutate into a different colour.

Malfoy had been easy for Harry to deal with in the past because he was predictable. He may have been rude, unjust and horrible, but he was always consistent. Harry had always known what to expect from him.

Harry had no idea what to expect from the man sitting before him now. He was not Draco Malfoy. He was not the Draco Malfoy Harry knew.

Harry didn't know who this man was at all, and it strangely frustrated him.

He now felt nothing but a baffled impatience with a code he couldn't unlock.

He felt like he was sixteen again, following Malfoy through Knockturn Alley and desperately wondering what he was up to.

A wave of panic shrugged itself up and washed over him.

"Who are you?" he demanded.

Malfoy was confused by the question. He answered nonetheless. "Draco Malfoy."

"You are _not_," Harry said, handing the parchment back to Malfoy.

Malfoy blinked in confusion. There was a crease between his eyebrows and one corner of his mouth was bitten in.

Harry found that his eyes were drawn to the nervous arrangement of Malfoy's mouth and he felt a pang of attraction course through him. It frustrated him even more.

"You are not the Draco Malfoy I know," he said, standing abruptly. "I want to see the Draco Malfoy I know."

The crease stayed, but Draco was already standing as well.

In one shift movement he rose out of his chair and removed his jacket. It dropped to the floor with a soft thump. His t-shirt soon followed.

Malfoy's chest was bare and the scars from the Sectumsempra curse Harry had used on him stood out dreadfully from his fair skin.

"People have changed since the war, Potter." Malfoy's voice was soft, but firm. He wanted to prove his point without being aggressive.

It was another change in Malfoy and it only increased Harry's frustration.

Malfoy's chest was muscular and perfect.

Harry suddenly realised how long it had been since he'd felt the touch of another man. _Too long_.

He felt another pang of attraction and longing, and decided it would be best to block out all thoughts of Malfoy.

He couldn't deal with feelings of attraction towards Malfoy right now. It wasn't sensible or right.

He was no longer a Death Eater, but he was still a threat. He was still elusive to Harry and as frustrating has he had always been.

Harry closed his eyes. When he opened them again he pretended that Malfoy was just a faceless reporter from _The Prophet_.

He focused his mind on the article about him. The reporter wanted to know about the lessons people could learn from his life.

Harry would simply say what he had to say and then the reporter would leave him in peace.

He skewered the scars before him with his eyes, shocked and dismissive at the same time.

He had put them there, but they were pale thing compared to his own scars.

He removed his own t-shirt and glared at the reporter, the length of the table still between them.

"After the war I attended the Death Eater trials. Everyone there was saying _people don't change_," he said, his bare chest heaving with heavy breath. "_People don't change so we should stop wasting our time and just lock them in Azkaban for life_."

"I know people can change. Dumbledore was proof of that. In his youth he was obsessed with the Deathly Hallows and became friends with Grindelwald. They planned to force Muggles into subservience. He wanted to bring the wizards into revolution and be their leader. He believed that any harm done would serve the greater good and benefit the future for wizards in the end."

"Then his sister died because he had put his plans for power with Grindelwald before her welfare. It made him realise that those who are best suited to power are those who have never sought it, and therefore he refused the post of Minister for Magic every time it was offered to him."

"He realised his mistakes and changed. He defeated Grindelwald and helped me defeat Voldemort. People change, that's the first lesson."

The reporter nodded slightly, as if too scared to move. Harry realised he was staring at him rather intently, but he continued to skewer him with his eyes.

"Second lesson," he declared, voice rising slightly, "there is no foundation, no secure ground, upon which people may stand today if it isn't friends and family."

With a flick of his wrist, Harry Vanished the table that buffered them.

"It became quite clear to me during the war when Ron and Hermione were helping me find and destroy the Horcruxes. If you don't have the love and commitment and concern that you get from family and friends, you don't have much at all. We learnt quickly that we wouldn't be able to defeat Voldemort unless we supported each other."

He walked closer to the reporter with every word and soon he was standing in front of him.

He slapped his bare chest with the palm of his hand, indicating the scar that Slytherin's locket had caused.

"The first Horcrux we found together messed with our minds. It was evil and threatened to break us apart. Ron and I fought and he left. He was gone for days. Hermione and I had no hope without him. When he eventually returned, we finally got back on track again. We destroyed the Horcrux and moved onto the next."

"Love each other or perish, that's the second lesson. Otherwise we wouldn't have been able to win the war. Say I was alone, or we were fighting, or unable to work together properly. The war – what we went through – would have been so much harder. I'm not sure I could have done it."

Harry took a step back from the reporter, widening the gap between them again.

"Love each other or perish," he repeated.

The reporter gave another stiff nod and Harry turned away from him.

The intensity of his glare was gone, but frustration could still be heard in his voice.

"The final lesson you can learn from me is the hardest of all. It's about death."

Harry couldn't see the reporter, but he could tell he still wasn't moving.

"My mother died protecting me. She faced death willingly and bravely. I wanted to be like her. I walked into the Forbidden Forest the night of the Final Battle ready to die like she did."

He was looking at the picture of his parents now. He could feel the reporter's gaze on the back of his head.

"Everyone knows they're going to die, but nobody believes it. If they did, they would do things differently. I didn't die that day in the forest, but I accepted death, and when you learn how to die, you learn how to live."

"That's the last lesson. Accept death, don't be afraid of it, and get on with your life."

_**To be continued**_

**Author's Notes: **

In my other stories, Draco is usually the one in the denial. I've decided to mix it up a little this time and give the doubts to Harry.

This Draco Malfoy is a lot kinder and more flexible than I have written in the past, but the whole point of this piece of fiction is to explore how people can change throughout the course of their lives.

I realise this story may be too 'sappy' for some, and I admit that it is a sort of rant exploring my dislike for Dark!Harry or 'emo-like Harry' fanfiction.

I do not think a Dark!Harry is possible when looking at canon. I believe that chapter 23 in the sixth book is perfect proof.

Certainly, Harry has lead a difficult life, but I do not think he would have ever considered going to the dark side or become depressed due to it. Plus, he could not have gone to the dark side as Voldemort wanted to kill him!

I like to think of him as I have written him. I like to take a 'glass half full' approach to life.

I hope that you are enjoying the story. Please review!

**References:**

"Life appears to me too short to be spent in nursing animosity or registering wrongs." – _Jane Eyre_

"Love each other or perish." – _W. H. Auden _


	3. Chapter 3

**A Wonderful Life**

**by clothsofheaven24**

ooo

Thank you, **Oliver** for being my beta and inspiring me to write this story.

**Disclaimer:**

This story includes quotes and ideas from _Tuesdays with Morrie_ by Mitch Albom.

You all know that I don't own the Harry Potter characters (JKR does). But if I did, something like this would happen to them...

ooo

_**We think that hating is a weapon that attacks the person who harmed us, but hatred is a curved blade, and the harm we do, we do to ourselves. – Mitch Albom (The Five People You Meet In Heaven)**_

ooo

**Part Three**

Harry twisted the bed sheets in his sleep.

He had closed his bedroom windows before going to sleep that night, blocking the breeze out, but he still felt a pressure against his body.

Suddenly Draco Malfoy's face appeared before him.

"You look so wonderful," he told Harry, and he ran the tips of his fingers over his shoulders and down his chest.

Harry's pyjama top had a row of small buttons, and Malfoy bit his lower lip between his teeth and stopped breathing as he undid them one by one.

Harry thought of the protests he should make, but even as the thought came he gasped and abandoned it, letting his head fall back against his pillow.

With careful movements Malfoy lifted the rustling folds of linen that separated them and slid his hands up Harry's thighs.

Harry shifted a little, hesitant, then yielding.

A minute later, it seemed, his pyjamas had been dropped to one side.

Malfoy knelt between his spread knees, as naked as he was, his face taut with longing and concentration.

Looking at Malfoy's face and the muscled lines of his body Harry thought he would melt with desire.

He lifted his hips, his eyes slanting with a smile, offering himself to Malfoy.

Their mouths met, wet and wide, until Harry felt he might slip down Malfoy's throat and be swallowed up forever.

With a helpless groan he turned his head aside, as Malfoy moved his mouth to his neck, staring over his heaving shoulders at the walls marked with ghostly outlines of pictures and furniture.

Suddenly the room seemed full of people who crowded in to watch them.

Hermione's judgemental face swam towards him and Sirius appeared briefly, kicking the end of the bed with his foot in fury at the sight of them.

Fear unfolded terrible wings in Harry's stomach.

He gasped and awoke with a terrible fright.

ooo

Draco flipped his pillow over and turned onto his other side.

He couldn't sleep, not after what had happened just a few hours ago.

Potter had answered his questions, turned his back on him and asked him to leave.

He didn't even look at Draco as he gathered his belongings and left through the front door.

It would have been foolish for Draco to press Potter further. He had enough to finish his article and it wouldn't do much good to stay around when Potter clearly didn't want him there.

Draco didn't know what had happened to cause things to spiral out of control.

Potter had been awkward, but also cordial, as he let Draco in. He even seemed pleased as he read the first half of Draco's writing.

Then he had looked up at Draco and Draco had caught a strange look in his eyes.

They were sharp and wild, as if he'd caught Draco sneaking around in his house and poking about in his personal belongings.

He had demanded to see the Draco Malfoy he knew, the Draco Malfoy that had been lost years ago.

The only thing Draco could think of was to remove his shirt and show Potter the scars he himself had put there.

He wasn't angry at Potter for what he did. It was a pale thing compared to the marks Draco had caused, no matter how figurative.

Potter had shown him his scars in return.

Draco was stunned by them.

They were ugly reminders of a painful time, but they made Potter seem even more attractive to Draco.

_I must not tell lies_ was a symbol of his fortitude and commitment.

The mark on his forehead was a symbol of love.

The scars on his chest and forearm were just plain hot. They showed how much of a hero Potter truly was.

Draco wanted to run his hands all over them and kiss them.

_Merlin, I'm done for_.

He was overcome in a way that he and never experienced before.

He wanted Potter so badly. Misery twirled in his heart and lust misted his brain.

He flipped his pillow over again and tried to fall asleep.

ooo

_It's not Malfoy_._ It's not Malfoy_, Harry told himself over and over, _it's just that I haven't been with someone in a while_.

Desperate times called for desperate measures.

He wasn't thrilled with the decision he had come to, but after waking up in the middle of the night erect and covered in sweat due to thoughts of Draco Malfoy, he knew that something had to be done. _Anything to get my mind off Malfoy_.

Disgust and shapeless longing possessed him in equal parts. The image of himself and Malfoy on his bed remained obstinately stuck in his head.

It was an image he didn't want to see but it attacked all his senses.

He exited Ron and Hermione's Floo and nearly collided with Hermione.

She had been on her way to visit him.

It was Monday morning and she held the latest copy of the _Daily Prophet_ in her hands.

"Harry!" she exclaimed in surprise. "I was just coming over to see you!"

She held up the front cover of the paper for him to see. The headline read:

_**A WONDERFUL LIFE**_

_**The success of Harry Potter **_

Hermione was wide-eyed and white-faced.

Harry looked at her with a pursed mouth and sharp eyes. He expected her anger and was prepared for it.

It shocked him, however, when she grinned at him and said, "It's wonderful, Harry! It's the best piece anyone's ever written about you!"

She missed his look of confusion, as she turned the paper around in her arms and began to read aloud from it.

_I look back sometimes at the person I was before the war ended. I want to talk to that person. I want to tell him what to look out for, what mistakes to avoid. _

_I want to tell him to be more open, to ignore the lure of idealised values, to pay attention when friends and loved ones are speaking, as if it were the last time you might ever hear them._

_Mostly I want to tell that person to get over your resentment and pride and support an orphan boy from Godric's Hollow who has a lightning bolt scar on his forehead. _

_I know I cannot do this. None of us can undo what we've done or relive a life already recorded. But if Harry Potter taught me anything at all, it was this: Holding anger and regret is like a poison. _

_It eats you from inside. We think that hating is a weapon that attacks the person who harmed us, but hatred is a curved blade, and the harm we do, we do to ourselves. _

_Harry Potter's parents were killed when he was a baby. _

_He spent his entire adolescence fighting Voldemort and losing his friends in the battle. _

_He has four permanent scars on his body to remind him of the violence he experienced every day. _

_Harry Potter, however, is not tainted by his life's hardships and misfortunes. _

_He knows that pain is a part of life. It's __**supposed**__ to be. It's not something to dishearten you. It's something to learn from. _

The article went on to discuss Malfoy's meeting with Harry. It listed the three lessons he had mentioned in his frustrated state.

Harry was surprised that Malfoy didn't mention Harry's mood in the article. He simply expanded on the three lessons and included several of Harry's quotes including _Love each other or perish _and _When you learn how to die, you learn how to live_.

He finished his report by saying:

_Most true is it that beauty is in the eye of the gazer. Harry Potter's life - misfortune, pain, suffering and loss – is not beautiful according to rule, but it is more than beautiful to me. _

_It is full of courage, resilience, companionship and knowledge._

_It is a wonderful life. _

Hermione pushed the last of Malfoy's words out with a strangled breath.

Her eyes were glistening.

"Oh, Harry!" she cried, throwing the paper aside and wrapping her arms around him. "Why didn't you tell me that Malfoy was interviewing you?"

She wasn't mad about it like Harry expected. She seemed genuinely pleased by the situation.

Harry shrugged and she realised her hold on him.

"I didn't want to make a big deal out of it," he said simply. "I wanted to get it over with as soon as possible."

"But this is a big deal!" Hermione said excitedly. "Malfoy did an amazing job! Even Ron liked what he wrote!"

"Not too bad for a ferret-faced git," Ron agreed, appearing briefly in the doorway to the room's adjoining kitchen.

There was a tea towel slung over his shoulder and a sprinkling of crumbs on his shirt front.

He quickly returned to cleaning the kitchen.

"Yeah," Harry agreed half-heartedly, "it went better than I thought it would."

Hermione was smiling strangely at him. He swiftly changed the subject.

"I just came by to pick up my ticket," he said.

Hermione's face fell.

"I thought you said you weren't going to the Quidditch match."

"No, I want to go with Adam," Harry said reassuringly.

"Aiden," Hermione corrected him.

"Right."

She was looking at him strangely again. Her brow was furrowed and she was narrowing her eyes. It was the face she had pulled at Hogwarts whenever she was solving a particularly difficult Ancient Runes problem.

"You said you didn't want to date anyone at the moment," she remembered.

"I figured I should give Aaron a chance," he said, "move forward with my life."

It was a phrase Malfoy had used in the article. Harry couldn't have given a proper reason for why he had come out with it now.

"Aiden," Hermione corrected him again, becoming more suspicious.

She would normally be happy with this kind of attitude from Harry, but for some reason Harry could not fathom, she looked displeased.

She glared at him for a few more moments before retrieving a ticket for him from her handbag.

"I will give the other ticket to your date," she told him as he turned back to the Floo.

"Thanks, Hermione," he said, stepping into the fireplace and disappearing into green flame. "I'll talk to you later."

She watched him leave and stood staring at the empty fireplace for a few more moments.

She thought of all the years they had known each other, since they were both young wizards starting at Hogwarts, and then she thought of all the years of the war that had been pressed into shadowy negative images by an untruthful media.

She, like Harry, had been resigned to the fact that the information printed about him in the press would be inaccurate.

Then suddenly Malfoy appeared and chased it all away.

She had forgotten. Malfoy had reminded her.

Harry truly was extraordinary. It had been foolish of her to push ordinary men on him.

She was now angry with herself.

She entered the kitchen to find Ron still at work cleaning the kitchen.

His head was bent over the countertop as he wiped away a cluster of crumbs with a wet cloth.

A small pile of plates and cutlery cluttered the sink. He would move onto cleaning them eventually by hand as well.

It was a job they usually completed using magic. Hermione knew he was doing it the Muggle way to keep his hands busy and his thoughts from becoming too overpowering.

Malfoy's article had deeply affected Ron as well. Hermione had cried while reading it and Ron had looked sombre.

He had patted her hand and stroked her hair in comfort, but did not know what to say about it.

It was about time the _Daily Prophet_ wrote something that was deserving of Harry. It was about time that someone was deserving of Harry.

She had been avoiding the subject, but suddenly felt the need to push it out.

"What are we going to do?"

She made it clear that she wasn't asking about their kitchen cleaning arrangements.

Ron didn't look at her.

A huge truth had dawned on them in reading the article, but they had both skirted around the issue all morning.

After a long interval, Ron answered, "I don't know."

"He came by to pick up the ticket for that Quidditch match I pressed on him."

Ron looked up, confused. "I thought he was refusing to go."

"Me too."

"Why would he suddenly change his mind?"

He already knew the answer, but he was too afraid to admit it.

Hermione did it for him.

"It's something to do with the article," she said. "It's something to do with Malfoy."

Harry's strange and irritating behaviour made more sense when it was connected to Draco Malfoy. It had been that way ever since they were children.

Malfoy threw Neville's Remembrall into the air and Harry went after it.

Malfoy went into Knockturn Alley and Harry followed him.

At the time, Ron and Hermione suspected that Harry was following Malfoy all year for a reason other than Voldemort.

He was a teenage boy with confusing thoughts and needs.

They thought he was falling in love with him.

They chose to ignore their instincts. They were to afraid to even admit them to each other. They hoped the situation would go away on its own.

They were relieved when it did, or at least when it appeared to.

The war ended, five years passed and they forgot.

Harry immersed himself in becoming an Auror and Malfoy blurred away into nothingness for them.

Now, Hermione realised, Harry was still young and confused.

He must have felt something with Malfoy during the interview and become overwhelmed by the article like she had.

He must have finally realised his true feelings for Malfoy and been appalled by them.

He was in denial.

She expected Ron to react in the same way, but she was surprised when he put his cleaning cloth down and simply said, "It's always had something to do with Malfoy."

Now it was clear to them that Malfoy returned Harry's feelings. Only someone who loved Harry and knew him well would be able to write about him like that.

Hermione nodded, overtaken suddenly by the happiness of acceptance. "He's trying to cover up his feelings by going on that date with Aiden."

"What are we going to do?" Ron asked.

Hermione blinked at him. He had shocked her again.

He had never taken part in any of her plans for Harry's love life before.

It was what made Ron a better friend than she was, she considered.

She often mistook him for being too passive, but in truth he was simply letting Harry be himself. It was a freedom he hadn't been presented with until well after the war was over.

Remorse twisted her stomach. She put too much pressure on Harry. She should let him figure his life out for himself.

She had every reason to believe he would. He had gotten himself out of many sticky situations before.

"We don't do anything," she told Ron, taking the tea towel off his shoulder.

The dishes in the sink began to clean themselves after she gave a quick flick of her wrist.

"It's all up to Harry."

ooo

Harry met Aiden met under the shadow of the gigantic Quidditch stadium.

Harry, through lack of interest, had forgotten what Aiden looked like, but he had no problem finding him, as Aiden had easily spotted him through the large crowd of Quidditch goers.

He had greeted Harry loudly and enthusiastically, receiving the attention of several passersby.

Harry ducked his head and led the way towards the nearest entrance, which was already surrounded by a swarm of excited witches and wizards.

"Mister Potter!" the usher boomed, when she checked their tickets. "Oh, these seats won't do! I'll get you some better ones in the top box!"

"That's not necessary," Harry said, embarrassed, "really, I-"

"Nonsense, Mister Potter. I insist!"

There was not much use in arguing further. The usher quickly organised their new seats and Aiden accepted them before Harry could protest further.

They clambered up the stairs into the stadium along with the rest of the crowd, which slowly filtered away through doors into the stands to their left and right.

They kept climbing and at last they reached the top of the staircase and found themselves in a small box set at the highest point of the stadium and situated exactly halfway between the golden goalposts.

Harry and Aiden, following the seat numbers on their new tickets, seated themselves in the front row.

Below them, hundreds of witches and wizards were taking their places in the seats which rose in levels around the long oval pitch.

Three goal hoops stood at either end, fifty feet high and almost at Harry's eye level.

He looked over his shoulder to see who else was sharing the box with them.

Several affluent people from the Ministry sat in the seats behind them, however, for a brief moment Harry imagined they were occupied by a family of three, all with pointed faces and white-blond hair.

The youngest sneered at him in a way that made his heart race and his blood boil.

Aiden knocked him out of his reverie of the Quidditch World Cup as he intentionally bumped his thigh against Harry's.

"Prime seats!" he said happily, as the commentator's loud voice broke out over the roar of the crowd that had now filled the stadium.

His voice echoed over them, booming into every corner of the packed stands.

"Ladies and gentlemen...welcome! Welcome to today's match!"

The spectators screamed and clapped.

Aiden's elbows deliberately brushed Harry's as they clapped along with the rest of the audience.

Harry noticed that Aiden was trying to sit as close to him as possible, finding any excuse to touch him.

It would be easy, Harry thought, to get him into bed.

He gave a small smile.

Aiden was attractive enough and would be more than willing to participate in anything Harry suggested.

He would soon be over his ridiculous thoughts of Malfoy.

A huge blackboard appeared opposite them and showed **APPLEBY ARROWS: ZERO, CHUDLEY CANNONS: ZERO**.

The players for each team zoomed out from behind the gigantic scoreboard on their brooms, and they were announced individually by the commentator.

Aiden began to clap more enthusiastically, his forearm now lightly touching Harry's.

The referee soon followed the players, carrying a large wooden crate under one arm and holding a whistle between his lips.

He flew to the ground and kicked the crate open.

The four Quidditch balls burst into the air. Harry saw the minuscule Golden Snitch for the briefest moment before it sped out of sight.

A sharp blast from the referee's whistle indicated the start of the game.

"Theeeeeeeeeeey're off!" screamed the commentator. " And it's Astrix! Kiely! Brand! King! Back to Astrix! Kiely! Dunbar! Birch! BIRCH SCORES!"

The stadium shuddered with a roar of applause. "Ten-zero to the Arrows!"

Aiden stood up to cheer, and when he sat down again he brought himself even closer to Harry than before.

Harry knew a lot about Quidditch and could already predict that the Appleby Arrows would beat the Chudley Cannons.

And within ten minutes, the Arrows had scored twice more, bringing their lead to thirty-zero, and causing a thunderous tide of roars and applause from their supporters.

Harry leaned back in his chair and let his mind wander.

The Chudley Cannons always lost.

Malfoy had always lost to Harry.

He remembered the feeling of plummeting through the air, diving for the snitch, Malfoy on his tail.

It was a thrilling feeling every time; the wind rushing through his ears, his heart pounding in his chest, Malfoy desperate to catch up to him.

But Malfoy soon gave up on the chase. He abandoned Quidditch and their time-honoured competition in favour of a task for Voldemort.

The tables turned and Harry found himself perusing Malfoy.

Malfoy had not fought Harry since. It gave him a strange, empty feeling inside.

Aiden's hand swept across Harry's thigh as he stood again, cheering as a Beater from the Chudley Cannons aimed a Bludger at one of the Arrows Chasers and missed by mere millimetres.

Suddenly the images from Harry's dream reared forward into focus.

Malfoy ran his hands up Harry's thighs and Harry happily let him undress him.

Lustful eyes, eager hands, brutal needs.

Harry shook his head and tried to free himself from them.

It was no use.

Everything he saw, everything he felt, reminded him of Malfoy.

It was time to put an end to it. _Now_.

He rested his arm on the top of Aiden's seat. When Aiden sat down again, he casually lifted it onto his shoulders.

"Do you want to go to my place for a drink or something?" he asked, leaning in close to the other man in order to make his intentions perfectly clear. "I feel like getting away from here."

Aiden cracked a large smile. He didn't need to think about his answer.

"Yes!"

Keeping his arm around Aiden's shoulders, Harry Apparated them directly into the living area of his apartment.

Aiden knew that it wasn't a drink Harry was offering.

Before Harry could consider his next move, Aiden had grasped his hips, leaned forward and connected their mouths.

The kiss was warm, solid and did nothing to relieve even a little of Harry's wanton desire.

Aiden was a good kisser, but Harry wasn't enthralled by him.

The lack of his own reaction to the attractive man before him frustrated Harry even further.

He clawed at Aiden's shirt, tearing it off him.

Aiden mistook Harry's frustration for passion, and broke the now frantic kiss to rip off Harry's own shirt.

As he did, Harry caught a glimpse of Aiden's bare chest.

It was well-built and muscular, but it didn't hold Harry's interest. It was smooth, unmarked, boring.

Harry felt no connection. The realisation of it made his skin burn.

He wasn't moving forward with his life at all. Whatever he wanted, whatever he needed, it wasn't this.

He was stuck in the same place, making excuses for himself and delaying the future.

He was suddenly furious, but not at himself. He was furious with Malfoy. It was his fault after all.

His article was a big, fat lie.

He was the one who said that Harry moved forward with his life. He was the one who said Harry's life was wonderful.

He was wrong.

He was wrong and spreading the lie all over the country in his writing. It was the first time Harry cared about untruthful information that was printed about him in the press.

Harry didn't think his life was wonderful at all. He was confused and unsatisfied. There was no pleasure to fill the obvious gaps in his life.

Aiden lunged forward, trying to reconnect the kiss.

There was a weightless second in which Harry might have abandoned his thoughts and responded, but instead he turned away abruptly and Aiden stumbled backwards.

"I'm sorry," Harry said, "I don't want this. I think you should leave."

Aiden looked confused and irritated, but a quick, furious flash from Harry's eyes reminded him who Harry was and what he was capable of.

He Disapparated with a sharp pop, muttering unintelligibly. Harry thought he heard the words 'inconsiderate' and 'cock tease'.

Harry didn't care what Aiden thought. He didn't even care that Aiden would most likely share the incident with Hermione and anybody else who would listen.

All Harry cared about at that moment was finding Draco Malfoy.

He had no idea where Malfoy was or where he lived, but Harry would find him.

It was time to set the story straight.

_**To be continued**_

**Author's Notes: **

I know this story is moving rather quickly, but it was never meant to be a long one. The next part will most likely be the last, unless I get some more last minute ideas. It has happened before in the past.

For those of you who believe that Harry has not moved forward with his life as Draco claimed in his article, you are absolutely right. However, Draco's statement will be made one hundred percent accurate in the end.

I hope you are enjoying the story. If you are...

**Please review! **

**References:**

Most true is it that beauty is in the eye of the gazer... –_ Jane Eyre_


	4. Chapter 4

**A Wonderful Life**

**by clothsofheaven24**

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Thank you, **Oliver** for being my beta and inspiring me to write this story.

**Disclaimer:**

This story includes quotes and ideas from _Tuesdays with Morrie_ by Mitch Albom.

You all know that I don't own the Harry Potter characters (JKR does). But if I did, something like this would happen to them...

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_**We shall not cease from exploration, and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time. – T S Elliot**_

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The shops and buildings of Diagon Alley were deserted. Everyone had gone home.

It did not occur to Harry to wonder whether Draco Malfoy might have also called it quits for the day.

Harry was certain without even posing the question to himself that Malfoy would be in his office, that he would find him and confront him.

He walked towards the main office of the _Daily Prophet _with his head down and his invisibility cloak tucked under his arm.

Under the damp and misty sky there was a slick glow of orange light oiling the street and its closed shopfronts.

The calm stillness of the evening that scented and weighted the air excluded him entirely.

He kept his head bent and walked fast enough to make himself breathless.

As he reached his destination his anger still contained him like a steel box.

It was easy to enter the locked building. He simply put on his invisibility cloak and slipped in through the front door as a reporter exited.

There was no light in the small foyer. The reporters for the _Evening Prophet _had just finished the issue for that night and the reporters for the _Daily Prophet_ would not begin work for another few hours.

The air seemed to hum with desertion and silence. It was clearly a place that was only empty for a few hours each day. In the early hours of the morning to the late evening it was full of noise, commotion and frantic reporters.

The building was completely deserted now, engulfed in darkness.

Harry was used to sneaking around in the dark, from his Hogwarts years, and quickly found the stairs that lead up to the reporters' office.

The office was a small, cramped, untidy space.

Newspaper clippings, photographs and post-it notes completely covered the walls. Every desk seemed to sag under the weight of endless piles of paper and books.

The room was dark, the only light coming from several tiny oil lamps that hung from the low ceiling. Warm light bled out from them and lent the darkness a gentle glow.

It was somewhere Harry would never picture Draco Malfoy. The Draco Malfoy he knew would find the room too cluttered and impoverished. He would lift his nose in the air and make a scathing comment about its resemblance to the Weasley family's home.

But Malfoy was there, sitting at a desk in the far corner of the room. He didn't seem disgusted by the room at all.

He even seemed to fit in with the mess and the worn furniture. His hair was mused from the stress of the day and his clothes were creased and rumpled.

He was leaning back in his chair with his legs resting on his desk. His head was bent, reading a copy of the paper.

He looked tired, but comfortable and contented as he leafed through the pages of the _Prophet_ and sipped from a small cup of tea.

He was the only one left in the office. Why he had remained, Harry could not imagine. All he could think of was the anger still thrashing inside of him.

It angered him further to see Malfoy so relaxed, so at peace with where he was and appearing not to have a care in the world.

Harry could not remember a time in which he had felt like that. He had certainly not felt like that recently.

He ripped his invisibility cloak off and stormed towards Malfoy's desk.

"I want a reprint!" he demanded. "I want you to take back everything you said about me in your article!"

Malfoy's head jerked up. His legs swung off his desk and he knocked several piles of paper over as he scrambled to stand up.

Harry felt a beat of triumph. It felt good to startle Malfoy.

"Everything you wrote about me was a lie!" he barked. "You had no right to print it!"

Malfoy's shock seemed to pass quickly. It was replaced by calm confusion.

"I showed you the first half of my article at the start of the interview," he said. "Why didn't you tell me you had a problem with it then?"

"That part, the part about you being a git, was true," Harry growled, slamming his hands on Malfoy's desk, "_is_ true."

"What parts did you find untrue then?" Malfoy asked, appearing to be unfazed by Harry's fury.

Harry clenched his hands; they had begun to shake against Malfoy's desk.

"'_He moves forward with life_,'" Harry quoted angrily from the article. "'_He is not tainted by his life's hardships and misfortunes._'

"I haven't moved forward. I'm stuck in the same place I've always been – fighting the Dark Arts. Only now it isn't as imperative. I'm only doing it because I don't know what else to do with my life. I've been doing it for so long."

He pounded the desk forcefully with his fists and groaned, "_Too long_."

Malfoy simply looked at him. He was being careful, but he was not afraid. He let Harry yell at him. It was like he had been expecting that it would happen for a long time.

"'_It is a wonderful life_,'"Harry quoted with obvious disgust, spitting the words out as if they were poison.

It was easy for Malfoy to say that. He came from money and affluence, and was protected by the blissful veils of ignorance for his entire childhood.

"What do you know about life?" Harry demanded, bitterness aching in his throat. "You were born with everything. You never had to struggle for a single thing you wanted, never had to worry if you'd be accepted or loved or wanted back."

Malfoy stared at him, grateful for the moment that Harry couldn't see that he'd spent nearly half of his life worrying that he, the single thing he wanted, would accept him, love him, and want him back.

Harry mistook his silence for resilience.

"Why aren't you saying anything?" he shouted. "Why aren't you doing anything? I asked for a reprint! Everything you think about me is wrong!"

Harry didn't understand why Malfoy wasn't fighting back. It was how it was meant to be between them. It was how it had always been.

Malfoy would run and Harry would try to catch him.

Harry would strike and Malfoy would reciprocate.

Only Malfoy wasn't running and hiding anymore. He was holding his ground. He was stable and strong, like a tree on the bank of a wild river.

Harry felt his blood boiling, overflowing. New feelings were bubbling to the surface.

Malfoy's sudden lack of participation in the fight seemed such a terrible and random assault that it put every remaining corner of Harry's world under threat.

All the knowledge and certainty drained away, leaving a place of yawning shadows and whispers he couldn't quite hear.

"I can reprint the statements you don't agree with, Potter," Malfoy assured him. "I can even organise a meeting for you with the editor. You can read the entire article before it is rereleased."

Malfoy's cooperation startled Harry like a slap of cold water to the face.

Harry had always thought that Malfoy was weak.

He used to do cowardly things like challenge Harry to duels and never show up.

He had always been too frightened and narrow-minded to break free from his parents and what they stood for, even when he realised that he could not kill Dumbledore or turn Harry into Voldemort.

But now his silence was strength and his calmness was a new, powerful weapon.

He had found a way to beat Harry. A way that was cruel and painstakingly final.

In refusing to fight back, refusing to take part in their long-lived rivalry, Malfoy had won. It was over.

Harry was suddenly confronted by an overwhelming sense of loss.

Malfoy was standing in front of him, but it felt like he was gone, dead like Sirius and Dobby and Mad-Eye.

_I want him back_.

The desire for a fight was still burning inside him. He refused to let go.

He rounded the desk, pinning Malfoy with narrow eyes.

"I don't want a new article!" he bellowed. "I just want you to take back the things you said!"

He was standing in front of Malfoy now, shoulders squared and teeth clenched, but Malfoy didn't flinch or match Harry's resentment.

He met Harry's gaze with the same strong composure. "I'm sorry. I misunderstood you."

Harry took another step forward, bringing their faces close together.

His nose was millimetres away from Malfoy's and it gave him strange surge of pleasure.

He mistook the feeling for the return of power and control, and felt them grow as Malfoy held up his hands in a gesture of submission and took two steps away from him.

Harry followed him as if magnetised.

Malfoy's hands were still raised, but Harry was determined not to stop.

He continued to walk forward, filling the empty space between them until his chest connected with Malfoy's flat palms: Warm, solid and a surprised hiss of indrawn breath.

Harry couldn't be sure whether it came from himself or Malfoy.

He suddenly realised that his chest was bare. He had forgotten to put his shirt back on before he left his apartment.

Malfoy's finger tips rested lightly, almost reverently, against the oval scar left by Voldemort's Horcrux.

"I don't write what I think, Potter," Malfoy said. He didn't sound as calm as before. His breath was loud and laboured. It tickled Harry's face.

"People are always saying 'I think Harry Potter has a hippogriff tattooed to his chest' or 'I think he has issues'. Everyone is too gutless to say what they feel, which is 'I feel that I wouldn't be alive today if it weren't for Harry Potter' or 'I feel like I owe my life to him'. They press it down and then everything they say becomes a complaint or gossip or hearsay. They become all about thinking and no feeling. I wrote what I felt about you, not what I thought."

Harry saw Malfoy's eyes flash with an emotion he couldn't decipher. It wasn't anger or hostility, but Harry felt the brutal force of it crack between them.

"What do you feel about me?" Harry demanded. His voice was suddenly soft, a whisper, but his bearing was still hard.

Malfoy told him, gracelessly. "Everything."

Harry suddenly became aware of his pulse. It was beating heavily and erratically against his chest and Malfoy's hands.

Harry shifted his gaze to them as a little asterisk of light from Malfoy's watch was reflected at him.

His hands were well shaped, not roughened by the hardships of the passing years.

They felt like Harry had imagined in the dream. Soft, but firm. Strong, but gentle.

_Most true is it that beauty is in the eye of the gazer..._

He had no idea why that line from the article had occurred to him now. He didn't even think he understood what it meant.

But as he gazed further downwards he was reproached by the sight of his own hands, calloused and scarred from a combination of war and Quidditch.

They were still clenched, hard and angry against his sides.

They looked so ugly, the detritus of the war spread over his skin, and yet Malfoy had said they were beautiful.

It was an imposition to be young and to look back on a life which seemed stretched and lengthened by his pain.

His memories bore a patina like clouded pewter, without colours or depth. He couldn't see the beauty in them. They were pure pain, clear misery, solid agony.

They were in deep contrast to the memories Malfoy conveyed in his writing. Harry could remember what he had written word for word.

_Harry Potter's life - misfortune, pain, suffering and loss – is not beautiful according to rule, but it is more than beautiful to me._

Harry was gazing at his hands and as clearly as he saw the scratchy marks of his scars and the bumpy lines of his calluses he realised that his worldview was askew. There was beauty to be found amongst the ugliness.

For many years he had made his judgements and interpreted his place as Malfoy's enemy. Now he understood that each of those daily measurements was wrongly calibrated and therefore worthless, because he had no hate left for Malfoy.

He knew that Malfoy had no hate left for him either. He even said that he had no hate left for anyone.

_Holding anger and regret is like a poison._

It eats you from inside. We think that hating is a weapon that attacks the person who harmed us, but hatred is a curved blade, and the harm we do, we do to ourselves.

Harry didn't hate Malfoy. He never had.

All the pressure to beat Voldemort, all of the bitterness and anger and violence that blossomed between him and Malfoy, had been intensified and expanded throughout the years in total disregard to this one truth.

He hadn't enjoyed beating Malfoy at Quidditch because of house points.

He hadn't kept tabs on Malfoy because of Voldemort.

Gryffindor versus Slytherin had been an excuse.

Voldemort had been a diversion.

Hatred and spite had been a bandage for a mortal wound.

Love.

What a wide sea that one word conjures up, all the currents and tides and storms and oily swells of it.

There are so many ways it can hit someone. It can make them happy or miserable. It can make them sick in the belly or hurt in the heart. It can make everything brighter and sharper, or it can blur all the edges. It can make you feel like a king or a fool.

Every way love can hit, it hit Harry when it came to Malfoy, and it hit Malfoy when it came to Harry.

Out of the box in which he had kept it jumped the undeniable truth. Suddenly and without warning it was there, and Harry knew what it meant and was amazed by its sharp completeness.

The light of challenge gone from his eyes, he looked back up to Malfoy's face.

It was very still, his gaze like a lance.

He was still staring at Harry and he knew what Harry knew, and now Harry knew that he knew too.

Harry was suddenly moving forward.

It seemed easy and natural now.

This was what he wanted. This was what he had needed all along.

Malfoy was moving forward too.

They moved forward together, dipping into the small amount of space that was left between them, until their lips met.

The kiss was surprisingly soft and slow, like a feather landing on still water.

It might have been a dream, so light and weightless did it make Harry feel.

The pressure of his previous confusion and dissatisfaction was lifted and his anger flooded away from him.

He felt the long stroke of Malfoy's hands, the quick scrape of gentle fingers.

They caressed Harry's chest lightly, like a breeze.

They made him ache.

Harry's own hands found their way to Malfoy's hips.

He could feel a small section of skin as Malfoy's shirt lifted a little at his touch.

He knew, in one movement, he could remove the shirt and bring their bare chests together. He could Apparate them away from this place. He could take Malfoy to his bed and be on it with him. Then nothing would matter but that he had Malfoy – a man. But it wasn't any man he wanted.

He was afraid – and he feared little – that it had always been Malfoy.

Malfoy's hands moved from Harry's chest to his neck and the kiss deepened.

On a whimper, Harry fretted against him as if he were struggling to wake from a dream. But Malfoy drew him closer and their embrace tightened.

It had been Malfoy since the first time he had challenged him on the Hogwarts Express.

It had been Malfoy since the first time those clear, grey eyes had dared him.

How could he have made such a gross miscalculation? How could he have wasted so much of his life feeling hatred, resentment and distain for him?

He had been unhappy for so long and it was his own fault, not Voldemort's.

He denied his feelings and refused to look beneath the surface for too many years.

He didn't realise that he did have the luxury of choices and control in the plodding discomfort of his daily existence.

Malfoy's article was wrong, but it could be made right.

With a soft oath, he pulled away from the kiss, keeping his grip firm on Malfoy's hips.

"I don't want a reprint," he decided. His voice was rough and unsteady, but he didn't seem to notice.

Malfoy didn't seem to notice either. He smiled at Harry and touched his check to his palm, letting his thumb trace over the relaxed jaw. "Are you sure?"

His eyes were half-closed in infatuation, but the clear, mystical grey pulled Harry in. No struggle, no force would drag him out again.

He checked the urge to kiss Malfoy for a second time and answered calmly. "I'm sure it will be a wonderful life after all," he said, "as long as you stay with me."

Malfoy's smile grew. "It will be," he agreed, before pulling Harry's mouth back to his.

Harry kissed him back eagerly. He no longer cared for tomorrows. Now, this moment, he had Malfoy. It was enough. It was wonderful.

_**The End**_

**Author's Notes:**

Dearest reader,

I know that my stories are not perfect. I'm not perfect. Nobody is perfect.

This little piece of fluff was simply written to escape the woes of real life (where we don't have Felix Felicis, Hippogriffs and Diagon Alley) for a small while.

If you enjoyed reading it, **please review**!

This will most likely be my last contribution to the world of Harry Potter fanfiction. However, I will still continue to read and review the stories that I find and like on this fantastic site.

Much love,

Lucy


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